Competition: Competition finalists 2024

In reality, being yourself can be hard. The thoughts of how people see you can be overwhelming, but you can only ever be yourself, because everyone else is taken. My piece displays the bravery of plunging into who you really are, and not looking back. (acrylic on canvas) 

Ella Toshach
Tauraroa Area School

Supernova in a Firefly Jar

She yearns for these moments
when moonlight floods her room
and waves of melancholia pulsate,
as if her own heartbeat had diffused to fill the space.

Feeling so completely alone,
and so completely free.
In this liminal state

is where she gets lost in the pages of other worlds,
finds herself again in scrawled stanzas.
In her musings, she wonders
how it would feel to exist like this all the time.
To enter any room and let herself expand
until the floor creaks under the magnitude of her mind
and the walls groan against the force of her convictions.

To reject palatability
and embrace complexity.
To be authentic and unapologetic,

asking, why should I shrink myself so that you can contain me?

She writes, writes, writes.
Pen slashing, thoughts racing,
a tiny ball of rage glowing, growing in her chest.

Bigger, brighter,
BOOM.
A supernova in a firefly jar.

From the artist:

‘Supernova in a Firefly Jar’ is a poem that confronts the fear of simply taking up space that is instilled in girls from a young age. While listening to music and writing poetry alone at night, the speaker realises she is a force that cannot be contained.

Ava Dilly
St Cuthbert’s

Lily Brading
Elim Christian College

From the artist:

Through the metaphor of walking a tightrope, I aspired to encapsulate the emotion behind taking a risk. Fear and excitement coexist, and this photograph captures the adrenaline and joy that comes with stepping out of your comfort zone even when emotions such as fear demand your attention.

Irrational Fear

Clutching an apple core for forty-five minutes
While the rubbish bin sits a mere five feet away.
The lines etched upon the surface of my brain,
high-speed transportation at its finest.
Thoughts a million fighting for attention,
amidst the raging storm within my mind
A friend invites me out
we can talk of
exams
football
the upcoming holidays
but when those topics have been exhausted
what then?
I sit in class
having already coughed twice
i cannot cough again
so instead I die a slow death
until the moment of respite.
An irrational fear is a fear nonetheless,
although there is an important distinction.
The thunder in one’s chest urges you to retreat back from the ledge,
While the chaos of your mind constructs a floor, ceiling, and four walls
closing in from all sides.
I shall not be held in a prison
of my own design.
Although the storm continues to
wage war,
I too,
will fight.
I drop the apple core.
In the rubbish bin.

Maddy O’Neill
Orewa College

From the author:
A digital art piece inspired by the childhood fear of turning the lights out. With my lights on nothing feels as scary as it could be as long as I find somewhere the light touches, where I never have to face what’s hidden Though I know, I must Feel the Fear… And do It Anyway.

From the author:
This is a photograph purposed to capture the fear that comes with toxic masculinity. And the bravery a lot of people have to ignore some of societies toxic traits and keep living their life as they are.

Kira Knuckley
Selwyn College

From the artist:
This video shows how I see the world when I’m outside by myself. I notice every little intricacy of nature and all the people in the city. I’ve become conditioned to think that I can only go outside

Saskia Wong
 Diocesan School for Girls

fear to passion

in the corners of every room,

hides the whispers and stares,

a beating heart with impending doom,

stands alone in still air. 

her mouth shut, locked with a key,

her trembling knees, weak,

her face flushing with blood, 

her spirit was bleak. But,

in the silence was a choice,

to step forward in pride,

or let the fear be her voice,

and to have the freedom to rejoice.

she took the challenge, accepted it with passion,

she unleashes herself like a talon,

she makes her path, with fled fears,

she stands tall with no tears.

the whispers fades,

while all the stares disband, 

in the fiery gleam of bravery,

she realises her passion instantly.

her mouth, once locked, now spoke aloud

her knees, once weak, now stand proud,

her face, now gleams with her inner fire,

her spirit is now rid of dire.

so let this story connect with you,

when fear encloses, just keep pushing through,

trail your own blaze, embrace what’s true,

and find the strength to see it through.

from the artist:

My poetry is about my own experiences of becoming braver with my fear of my public speaking and now showing my passion for singing and being on stage.

Oliva Kim
 Diocesan School for Girls

A Writer’s Achilles Heel 

To bare your emotions through words is something that is expected in order to take the ‘aspiring’ out of ‘aspiring author’, and yet it is one of the most difficult things for any writer to do. To be authentically yourself, you must open yourself to the world’s piercing gaze over every inch of your skin. You must willingly open up your ribcage and let your organs, all red and ripe, be plucked and prodded by the vultures circling overhead. Everytime a submission date looms closer, whether it be English homework or a writing competition, I cannot help but feel the most overwhelming dread that creeps up my spine at knowing that I will be perceived; A delicate lily with its petals a touch away from bruising. In comparison to the millions of other inked pages, I know that I might not be the most remarkable or eloquent, and that thought nibbles at the edges of my conscience every second. It would certainly be easier to just not submit, to not put myself out there and hide under the comfortable blanket of anonymity. Yet what am I without my words? A writer without their writing is pitiful. And I know deep down, more than anything, I want to do this. I want to write for others, with others, and let my words ring out through the town like chapel bells. With all honesty, I am petrified, a stone gargoyle frozen on the church’s steeple. But I know it is time to take a step of faith, to let myself bloom, to peel back my skin’s layers, and be vulnerable. Achilles was dipped by his mother Thetis into the River Styx by his foot, making his whole body invulnerable except for his heel, and yet even he took his shoes off.